


Unexpected Gifts

by fuzipenguin



Series: Trending on the Edge [17]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Other, Threesome, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Bluestreak has the best surprise Jazz could ask for.





	Unexpected Gifts

                As Jazz leaned against Bluestreak’s front, shuddering and winding down from his most recent overload, Bluestreak looked over his shoulder and gave a nod to the third mech who had entered his quarters a few minutes ago.

                Turning his attention back to Jazz, he stroked down the quivering mech’s abdomen and gave the vibrator’s strap a good tug. Jazz arched with a pained grunt, the back of his helm digging into Bluestreak’s collar fairing.

                “Mmm, getting sensitive,” Bluestreak commented. He cupped the still vibrating toy, grinding it against Jazz’s nub and making him buck.

                “Please! Please, Master!” he choked out.

                “Please, what?” Bluestreak purred, his hand moving in small little circles. “You want something else? Maybe something thick and long to fill that greedy little valve of yours? My little slut… ready for more even after… what is it now… oh yes, _seven_ overloads now.”

                “Yes, yes!” Jazz chanted, his squirming becoming more purposeful. He began following the motion of Bluestreak’s hand, his hips canting into the pressure instead of away.

                Bluestreak laughed delightedly, pressing even harder against the apex of Jazz’s thighs. “Look at you! Chasing after your eighth! Well, I’m feeling generous tonight, so take it with my blessing, Jazz.”

                With a whine, Jazz bore down against the toy, small cries emerging from his lips as he swiveled his pelvis in tiny little rocking motions. “So good to me, Master!” he moaned, letting his head fall back to rest against Bluestreak’s shoulder.

                “Damn straight I am,” Bluestreak murmured. He bent his head and bit down hard on the edge of one of Jazz’s sensory horns. Jazz screeched, back forming a pretty little arch. He froze like that for several moments, trembling. And then he gave a guttural groan, his body jerking spasmodically as blue sparks flickered across his plating.

                Bluestreak thumbed off the vibrator’s power switch, but continued to massage Jazz’s anterior node with the toy’s stubby little nubs.

                “Eight,” Bluestreak murmured, embracing Jazz’s frame as he sagged. He quickly untied the straps which had held the toy in place and tossed it aside. “What do you say?”

                “Thank you,” Jazz slurred, turning his head to nuzzle at Bluestreak’s throat. “Thank you, Master.”

                “You should be thinking of a way to repay me,” Bluestreak replied, sliding his hand farther down and cupping the sopping entrance to Jazz’s valve. “Especially after what I’m giving you next.”

                “Next… a new toy, Master?” Jazz asked, extending his glossa and giving the side of Bluestreak’s throat several tiny kitten licks.

                “Something like that. Close your optics, please,” Bluestreak instructed in a murmur. Reluctantly moving away from Jazz’s talented mouth, Bluestreak shifted into a crouch. Wrapping an arm firmly around Jazz’s chest, Bluestreak tightened his grip on the apex of Jazz’s thighs. With a grunt of effort, Bluestreak pushed himself upright, lifting Jazz’s frame into the air.

                Jazz let out an undignified squawk and squirmed briefly before relaxing back against Bluestreak’s hold. Considering Jazz’s lower legs were firmly tied to his thighs and his arms were restrained behind his back, there wasn’t much for him to do besides trust that Bluestreak wouldn’t drop him.

                Which he did, but only to bounce atop the bed once Bluestreak had reached it. He helpfully steadied Jazz with a grip on his shoulders. “Open your optics, Jazz. Tell me what you think of your present.”

                Beneath Bluestreak’s hands, Jazz’s stiffened in shock. And broke role for the second time in as many weeks. Both times, Ratchet had been involved. Bluestreak would feel threatened except that he knew Jazz merely had an adorable crush on Ratchet and only pertaining to his dominance skills.

                “Holy slag… Ratchet?!” Jazz squeaked.

                Ratchet smirked from his recline against the bed’s pillows. He lazily stroked his erect spike with one hand, the other suggestively tracing the bottom edge of his windshield. “Hello, Jazz.”

                Jazz craned his neck around, looking up questioningly at Bluestreak. “Master?” he asked hopefully, beginning to shake in excitement.

                “Yes, Jazz. That’s for you. You’ve been a very good boy lately so I thought I would reward you. And Ratchet so graciously accepted my invitation to play with you,” Bluestreak explained. “You don’t mind, do you?”

                Jazz turned back around, his glossa flitting out to lick his lower lip. “Not at all, Master. Thank you, Master. Thank you, Ratchet,” Jazz murmured, optics fixating on the medic’s thick spike.

                “As I said… I expect actions expressing your gratitude after playtime,” Bluestreak replied, leaning forward and reaching around Jazz’s chest with both arms. With a heave, he lifted Jazz up and forward, settling him atop Ratchet’s thighs.

                “Yes, Master. I will, Master,” Jazz replied absently, already struggling to get his pedes under him and shuffle forward toward his goal. As he slid closer to Ratchet’s spike, he left a trail of lubricant behind him.

                Jazz made his way up Ratchet’s legs to his pelvis, rocking against his spike with a blissful expression. “May I call you ‘sir’?” Jazz asked, looking up earnestly at Ratchet.

                “’Sir’ will do,” Ratchet replied magnanimously, stroking Jazz’s knee. “Now get up on that spike. Bluestreak tells me you’re good with your valve. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

                “Yes, sir!” Jazz exclaimed eagerly, shaking all the harder. He twisted and squirmed, wriggling atop Ratchet’s thighs in ways which made his optics light up even further with interest. But it quickly became apparent to Bluestreak that Jazz wouldn’t be able to climb on top of Ratchet’s spike. The medic was thick in body with a lengthy spike. With Jazz hampered by his bonds, he couldn’t raise himself up high enough to shift the tip into his port.

                Jazz was starting to realize it as well, annoyed little grunts emerging from his lips as he repeatedly tried to maneuver himself into the proper position. Behind him, Bluestreak discreetly motioned Ratchet to assist, but the medic merely raised an orbital ridge in amusement. Rolling his optics, Bluestreak leaned forward, hands bracketing Jazz’s waist.

                “Having trouble?”

                Jazz slumped in place, hanging his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Master,” he whispered. “I failed Sir’s order.”

                “You haven’t quite explored all options yet. For example… have you tried asking for help?” Bluestreak purred, stroking his partner’s upper back.

                “No… I… will you help me, Master?” Jazz questioned, pressing against Bluestreak’s hands.

                “Gladly. Let’s see here…”

                Bluestreak resumed his grip around Jazz’s chest with one hand and snaked his other between Jazz’s spread thighs. It took only a little effort to lift Jazz and position him over Ratchet’s length, the medic helpfully holding it still. Bluestreak lowered Jazz down enough so that the wet spike head bumped his own fingers.

                “Are you ready?” Bluestreak asked, voice a little strained from the awkward hold.

                “Yes, Master. Please, Master, I _want_ it,” Jazz moaned, twitching his hips in entreaty.

                Bluestreak shared a grin with his mentor. They had been talking about this very scenario for ages, and Jazz had been eagerly awaiting this day. Not that Bluestreak or Ratchet hadn’t been looking forward to it either. Bluestreak had found he liked showing off his lovely little sub and Ratchet knew just how tempting Jazz could be, even outside of a session.

                “I’m sure you do,” Bluestreak replied, lowering Jazz enough so that Ratchet’s spike head pushed past Jazz’s valve rim.

                Jazz moaned loudly, jerking in Bluestreak’s grip. “Ohhh… yes…oh, Primus…”

                Bluestreak eased Jazz down a few more inches, the saboteur’s shaking increasing exponentially. His armor was rattling against itself, his denta starting to clack together.

                “Master… Master…” Jazz cried as he was penetrated further. Ratchet cursed suddenly, his hands flying out to grip Jazz’s thighs and knead them.

                Bluestreak took a moment to smirk at Ratchet; he had warned the other mech about the strength of Jazz’s calipers and it looked as if the medic was experiencing that first hand.

                “What is it sweetspark?” Bluestreak crooned, tightening his grip around Jazz’s chest.

                “Gonna… gonna overload…!” Jazz gasped, rocking his hips in mid-air and stirring the spike within him.

                “Then do it,” Bluestreak instructed, releasing Jazz.

                The lighter mech dropped like a stone, ramming the rest of Ratchet’s spike deep inside himself. Jazz immediately convulsed, throwing his head back with a wail as he violently climaxed. Bluestreak had to keep ahold of him, momentarily worried that Jazz would topple off, but he remained in place under the steadying hands of both Bluestreak and Ratchet.

                “Oh, Primus… oh… frag me…” Jazz moaned, sagging as the last of the spasms subsided. He ended up draped across Ratchet’s frame, head resting on the medic’s chest. Jazz shivered occasionally, otherwise limp across his Ratchet pillow.

                “That’s definitely the idea,” Ratchet commented, thrusting up lightly. “That was nine. You gonna give me your tenth?”

                Jazz groaned eagerly in agreement and Bluestreak sat back on the heels of his pedes, watching his mentor and submissive with undisguised glee.

                And lust. Oh, there was definitely a lot of lust there too. He couldn’t _wait_ to see what Jazz thought up as a thank you for this.


End file.
